My MRSA Story, Part One.

For a long time now, I've been promising many people that I would write about how my MRSA infection came about, so I am going to attempt to do so, before some of my memories start to dissipate into the haze of summertime, should it ever choose to arrive.

Very briefly, for those of you wondering, what is MRSA?  MRSA is an acronym for methicillin-resistant staph aureus and is a type of bacterium often found on the skin and in the nose of healthy children and adults. Quite simply, it is a type of staph that is resistant to the penicillin-related antibiotics.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of research about MRSA and I find the more I look into it, the more questions I have, and the more angry I become at how little information is truly out there about this debilitating "superbug".  It is truly a shame because more Americans die every year from invasive MRSA infections than from HIV/AIDS or H1N1 flu. What's more, 85% of all invasive MRSA infections were from healthcare facilities with patients contracting infections after their stay ( two-thirds) and one-third while in the facility. 14% of all infections occurred in the community with no exposure to healthcare and this number is continuing to grow. All of this data is from 2005, and it is well known that the numbers have skyrocketed since that time. It is also thought that the lack of regulation on the healthcare industry to report MRSA statistics has kept the reported numbers artificially low.

I am not sharing any of this to scare you or cause you to walk around with masks.  The fact is, MRSA is so prevalent, it is likely you come in contact with it on a regular basis, but some very basic knowledge of MRSA can prevent you from having it affect your life in any major way.  I intend to post more about this in coming posts, but for now...my story.

On December 7th, 2010, with the help of our midwife/ARNP and our doula, Roger and I gave birth to our third child, a girl who we named Ada.  It had been quite a night--labor beginning late evening, calling our midwife and doula so we could all make it on the last ferry to the mainland for the night, arranging for grandparents to come from a different island to be with our two sons, Gunnar and Finn.  My labor went much more quickly than my last two births, which had been with the same midwife and in the same hospital.  I spent a good deal of time in the bathtub, especially when the pain really descended on my body.  Before too long, I was at 9 centimeters.  Unfortunately, I stayed there for hours.  Finally, I decided on an epidural, and within a very short time, my labor had progressed and I was able to push my baby girl out into this world.  It was such a beautiful and sweet moment, her arrival. Her brothers were elated, as were the rest of our family and friends who came to see Ada.  Since we were now "veteran parents" the nurses mostly left the three of us alone, and the next afternoon we were on a ferry back to our island.   

The next few weeks were an adjustment, to be sure, but I found myself increasingly surprised at how much easier it was compared to my expectations prior to Ada's birth.  I went out hiking with all three children.  I was able to rest a fair bit.  Ada was a surprisingly good sleeper and a very mellow baby.  I had a checkup with my midwife. She told me I should take it easy, relax more.  Somewhere during this time, I noticed a pimple underneath my left arm.  I didn't think much of it because, even at age 35, I still get acne from time to time.  It became rather painful, but again, I didn't think it was anything to worry about, and I treated it myself by squeezing it and draining it in the shower.

On December 22nd, I stayed up late to prepare for Christmas, as we were going to travel to the island where our parents live.  I sat on the floor for a few hours, wrapping presents.  When I got up, I felt intense pain in my right hip/thigh, and had to limp back to bed. I didn't think much of this either as I had had some hip pain and tenderness during my pregnancy, not to mention a very painful birth.

The next night, we stayed at my in-laws' house and for some reason, Ada was fussing all night.  I was not able to walk her, so my dear, sweet Gunnar got up and walked her for me.  I cried most of the night.  On Christmas Eve morning, we went to the on-call doctor at the local clinic.  The PA who saw me was very nice, and spent a lot of time with us.  Her diagnosis was bursitis of the hip. She gave me what she described as a "very powerful anti-inflammatory shot" in my arm, and said I should feel its effects within several minutes.  While she looked for a pain killer that I could take while nursing, I waited to feel some relief.  It never came.  What's more, the PA said I should probably refrain from nursing for the next few days while I took the pain killers.  This made us a bit frantic as we had to find a breast pump and feed our new baby formula.  Thankfully, our good friends with three little ladies served us up a very deluxe pump pronto, and Ada seemed to take to the formula for the most part.

Christmas night saw us back at the local clinic with another on-call doctor.  He took my temperature, which was slightly elevated, but not alarmingly so.  He looked for signs of a neurological problem.  He seemed to concur with the diagnosis of bursitis. I believe he also gave me an anti-inflammatory shot and some heavier pain medication.

Nothing touched the pain, though I continued to take the medication.  I had to hold on to the walls in order to walk.  I did more research on the pain medication I was taking and felt safe to go back to nursing Ada.  I spent every  minute of the day and the next few nights sleeping in my father-in-law's motorized recliner as it was the only place I could sit or sleep without excruciating pain.

We went back to our island, as Roger had to go back to work.  Sleep did not come easy.  Nothing did.  The pain continued.  This part of the timeline is really a blur to me.  On December 28th, I saw a doctor on our island.  He went through most of the same motions as the previous two doctors.  He took my temperature, looking for an infection.  I'm not sure which doctor told me to increase my dosage of ibuprofen a sizable amount (I think the second one), but I know now that it was probably masking my temperature and later sent me into preliminary organ failure.  This doctor decided to give me a cortisone shot  in my hip.  I was so hopeful that this would finally take the pain away, but no such luck.

By New Year's Eve, I was in yet another on-call doctor's office in the middle of the night.  I remember almost nothing of this visit, but I know by this time my hip and part of my buttocks were very swollen, tight and red.  This doctor had nothing else to offer me, other than to say I could go to the hospital in the morning if I felt I was in too much pain.

I had had enough of being in pain, no sleep and taking care of three children.  Thankfully, family had come to help, but the pain was agonizing.  So, on New Year's Day, with Ada in tow, my mom took me to the ER at the same hospital where I gave birth to Ada only a few weeks before.  Again, the details are fuzzy in my memory, but I do remember that the ER doctor and his nurse were rather sarcastic in their responses to my situation. The doctor basically said I could go home and take more pain meds, or check myself in for observation.  This wasn't even a question for me,  so my mom went home, and Roger caught the next ferry over to be with me. I had no clue of the horror that was to come, nor that this would be day one of over a month I would spend living in the hospital, most of it without my new baby.

More later...